


we're just two men (as god had made us)

by Anonymous



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, Mirror Universe, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Rough Sex, this is just sex with some introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:41:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26337373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: au: the mirror universe crew finds themselves at ds9 and the bashirs get themselves into a new kind of trouble
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Julian Bashir (mirror)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25
Collections: Anonymous





	1. too much

**Author's Note:**

> just a brief TW heads up; there is a brief mention of non-consensual exposure early on
> 
> i also logged in tonight and noticed that someone else had written and posted their own hot bashir-on-bashir action so looks like there's something in the air! i'll have what they're having. 
> 
> no betas and written under the influence of a drink or two.

Sisko only gave them a three hour heads up before the transporters starting going off. In his defense, he was only given a _five_ hour heads up before the transporters started going off.

They needed supplies, Sisko told them. Their doubles were in a war and had gutted Terek Nor for all she had, but thankfully they had a spare. With his teeth firmly gritted, O’Brien gladly showed his double where to find the old Cardassian parts had been stored on Deep Space Nine.

It was odd seeing them together. Miles was Julian’s best friend and he could recognize the man’s jovial energy from across the station. His double was sour and smelled faintly of engine oil. He openly stared at Mrs. O’Brien (sweet and kind Keiko-- _“Miles, he’s probably so lonely! Let’s have him over for dinner!”_ ) but was gruff and, well, agreeable with the true O’Brien.

There was once a time when the thought of _two_ Jadzias would have sent Julian to the nearest abandoned alcove so he could daydream about it. The alternate Dax was not his Jadzia (not that she was actually _his_ to begin with)-- she was thinner, less curvaceous. An ugly, red raised scar ran from the middle of her forearm, twisting up her elbow and disappearing into the stained sleeve of the men’s t-shirt she wore. She and Jadzia both held themselves with a pride that could be misinterpreted as arrogance, but Dax carried herself with a warrior’s pride-- wide footsteps, set shoulders. As she walked across the Promenade with Jadzia, Julian wondered how identical creatures could look so different.

Jadzia was thrilled with her double, grinning at the woman like she’s the best birthday present Jadzia could have asked for. The same joy is mirrored in Dax’s eyes. The scene is oddly heartwarming to Julian. A best friend and a sister all rolled into one body that’s nearly identical to your own. He thinks of O’Brien and his double and doubts the other man can look at Miles’ wife and family with the same glee that Dax looked at Jadzia’s collection of Klingon knives.

Freyha, one of his nurses, pages him to the infirmary to let him know someone’s come in with some minor cuts after a fight in Quark’s that turned violent quickly. Julian is confused on why he’s being paged for something as simple as some minor gashes, but heads down to the infirmary anyway. He finds Freyha standing in the hallway, her cheeks flaming and there’s a scowl on her pretty features.

“I’ll tell you later,” is all she says when she pushes past Julian, heading towards Quark’s.

Nothing could have prepared him for what he found. Captain Bashir is sprawled out, shirt thrown on the floor beside him, on a sick-bed, bleeding sluggishly from a nasty cut on his chest. He laughs, an ugly noise, stuffing himself back into his dirty trousers.

“Your nurses are no fun,” he says, still smiling.

“Oh, they’re plenty of fun; I just don’t expose myself to them,” Julian says sternly, getting supplies to clean up the blood. “Whatever did you say to Freyha anyway? I’ve never seen her look so bothered.”

“I merely-- _fuck!_ ” Bashir hisses as Julian presses on the wound, harder than necessary. It’s a shallow cut along the curve of his ribs, but it could have been deadly if whomever did it knew what they were doing. “I merely offered to let her pretend I was you if she wanted to…” He gestures vaguely at his lap.

“Impropriety aside,” Julian starts as he adjusts the dermal re-generator accordingly, “Nurse Freyha is happily married to Lazra, one of Quark’s Dabo girls.”

Bashir rolls his eyes at that. “No wonder you’re all so stuck up here,” he drawls. “Back where I’m from--”

“Yes, yes; I know,” Julian snaps. “Back where you’re from, you grab a woman you like, bend her over the nearest table, and go at her like you’re animals.”

“Not just the pretty girls,” Bashir says, trailing stained fingers up the inner curve of Julian’s wrist where he’s rolled his uniform sleeves up.

Julian resists the urge to swat his hand away. Instead he clears his throat and puts on his professional doctor facade. “Your wound is all cleaned up. You’re free to leave the infirmary if you wish. The Chief let me know most of the work is happening on Upper Py- oh!”

Bashir is fast, faster than Julian is. The mouth pressed against his own tastes like the cheap liquor, the fake replicated nonsense at Quark’s, as well as the overt sweetness of root beer. Bashir’s hand is clutching at Julian’s front, trying to find the zipper on his uniform jacket.

He kisses just like how Julian likes to be kissed but Julian can’t find it in him to be upset by it. Instead he puts his hands on Bashir’s bony shoulders, resisting the urge to pull him closer, and pushes him away.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re not interested,” is all Bashir has to say. “I’d much rather have you than--”

“It’s not that!” Julian snaps, sounding petulant to his own ears. Bashir’s too, if that smirk is anything to go by. “It’s just--”

“You don’t mix business with pleasure.” Bashir’s voice is deep and Julian briefly wonders if that’s how his own voice sounds when he’s aroused. “Should I head towards Upper Pylon 4 and wait for you to ambush me and pull me into a dark corner; is that what you want? Maybe tap my foot in the ‘fresher--”

Julian sighs, prepared to slap the man in front of him. “We both have work to do. Before you say anything, just listen to me.”

“I’m listening,” Bashir says, pulling a tattered shirt over his head.

“We both have work to do today. Your people are in Upper Pylon 4 getting supplies for your station. I still have patients to see this afternoon.”

“What time?”

“2100.”

“I’ll find you.”

 _You better_ , Julian wants to say.


	2. too late

_Maybe it is narcissism,_ Julian thinks to himself. He’s back in his quarters, showered, and changed into clean trousers and a sweater. He’d be lying if he hadn’t thought about it; he’d seen the glint in Intendant Kira’s eyes whenever she looked at the Major. A body that’s just your own, knowing exactly how you like to be touched. Would Captain Bashir crave mint truffles after sex like he did? Did he have the same sensitive spots along his hips and lower back? Would he push Julian into his sheets and dominate him or would he lie back and let Julian take control?

He shivers at that and isn’t sure which image he likes more; being rutted into like a beast by his own double or pinning the man down and putting him in his place. The desire swells deep in his core, but it’s a strange pleasure-- almost like he’s waiting to be alone so he can jerk off.

Because that’s what this is, isn’t it? Masturbation, but with a body that’s your own. Bashir didn’t _want_ him, and he didn’t want Bashir. There was no romance, no pretense of anything more than tonight. Something more than masturbation, but less than a one night stand. Something complicatedly uncomplicated.

Julian is getting ahead of himself. He perches himself awkwardly on his couch, wiping his sweating hands against his thighs before he calls for whomever it is to let themselves in. There’s a brief moment with no response before the door slides open.

 _Well at least he showered_ , Julian thinks as a dripping wet Bashir makes his way to the replicator and scans through what Julian has. Annoyance bristles in Julian, but what was he expecting? A kiss hello and a chat about how stripping Deep Space Nine for Cardassian hardware is going? Station gossip on who’s seeing who back in Terok Nor?

“Real alcohol?” Bashir lets out a low whistle. “You really know how to win a man’s heart.” With a large glass of dark beer, Bashir makes himself comfortable across from Julian on Julian’s sofa.

“How is your chest?” Julian asks awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed. He knows what he wants, he just doesn’t know how to get there. This has never happened with him. He can’t compare Bashir’s eyes to the beauty of the wormhole or whatever new come-on he can use on a beautiful woman passing through the station. So he sticks to what he knows: himself and medicine.

“Trying to get me naked already?” Bashir places a hand on his chest in pretend shock. “I thought you were going to have candles and dinner ready for me.”

“Would you have even noticed?”

“Maybe if you had good wine, I might have,” Bashir says with a smirk, taking a deep drink of his beer. Julian’s eye is drawn to the length of the other man’s neck and he lets himself stare openly.

Bashir likes to be watched; they have that in common. Good.

Bashir sets his glass down on a nearby end table before reaching for the hem of his shirt. It’s the same one he had on earlier; the blood is crusted and stained a murky brown on the side where his wound was. As Julian would have suspected, there is no scar to indicate where someone had tried to, probably, kill Bashir earlier that day. He allows himself to lean in and press a warm hand against Bashir’s ribs. Bashir moans lightly at the contact, but says nothing. Julian’s hand continues, sliding up to briefly toy at a nipple, before curving up and wrapping around the back of Bashir’s neck, the grip tight and unforgiving.

“Did you think you’d get to call the shots tonight?” Bashir mocks, eyes hard as he stares Julian down. “Did you think you’d get me tipsy on that real liquor of yours before you took me to bed? Were you hoping I’d be your girl tonight?”

Something clicks and takes over in Julian’s brain. “I was hoping you’d shut the fuck up and kiss me already,” he says, loosening his grip and shifting his hand to Bashir’s warm, bare shoulder.

Bashir is on him like an animal, knocking him back into the seat of the couch, rough hands catching the hem of his sweater and pushing it up so Julian can pull it off all the way.

“You’re so…smooth,” is all Bashir says, running a hand down Julian’s chest. Bashir is leaner than he is, body sharp like a whip but covered in scars and burns. Julian imagines he feels downright tender in comparison. He pinches a nipple and Julian gasps.

“Not so hard!” he scolds, swatting at Bashir’s hand. Bashir rolls his eyes, but gently, almost too gently, leans down and presses his lips against Julian’s. Bashir melts into the kiss, pressing Julian roughly into the lush cushions. He knows what Julian wants; brief touches of Bashir’s tongue against his own, followed by playful nips of Bashir’s teeth. His hands are softer now, feather-light touches against Julian’s nipples. It’s Julian’s turn to melt, moaning softly into the mouth against him.

“Knew you’d like that,” Bashir murmurs against his lips. “Knew you’d be like a girl.”

Julian says nothing, just moans a bit louder as Bashir starts to work on the tender skin of his neck. He finds the spot under Julian’s ear and chuckles darkly as Julian reacts to his touch.

“If you’re me,” he says, voice heavy with arousal, “do you like it when I do this?” He scrapes blunt nails down Julian’s side before running his palms over the welts. Julian’s hips thrust up against Bashir’s and he nods. Another chuckle at that. “You’re too easy.”

Julian wants to roll his eyes at that, but Bashir is pushing himself off the couch and he nearly whimpers at the loss of contact. Instead Bashir is fiddling with the front of his trousers, pulling them and his underwear down in one unceremonious push. His boots and socks follow and Julian finds himself staring at a scarred, more hairy version of himself, nude and proud in his living room.

He shouldn’t be this turned on.


	3. or just not enough of this

Instead he stands as well, unzipping his pants and pushing them off. His socks follow, toed off awkwardly as he tried to maintain some grace, but his Federation standard briefs stay on. Bashir clears his throat expectantly, and Julian huffs a sigh as he strips his underwear off as well

For awhile, they just study each other, taking in the difference in each others bodies. Bashir is thin, thinner than Julian, but wiry with muscle. The hair on his chest is thicker, and what trails down this stomach to his cock is darker than Julian’s own.

“You’re prettier,” Bashir jokes, breaking the silence between them. He steps forward, wrapping a dry hand around Julian’s half-hard cock. “but I’m bigger.”

Julian starts to make a comment, but it’s cut off by a groan as Bashir rubs his thumb against the sensitive spot under the head. Julian’s cock hardens fast, too fast, and he grabs Bashir by his damp hair and forces their lips together. There’s a moan into the kiss, but it could have come from either one of them. Julian hums happily when Bashir digs his nails into the flesh of his ass and Bashir mirrors the noise when Julian drags his nails across Bashir’s thin hips.

“Where’s your fucking bed?” Bashir groans deeply, voice raspy with arousal.

Julian takes the lead, getting a few steps away from his bedroom before Bashir is pressed up against his back, hands like claws on his hips as his pulls Julian against his hard cock, rutting against his ass like a beast. 

“God,” he breathes, wet sloppy kisses against the slope of Julian’s shoulder, “the things I’m going to do to you.”

They barely make it to Julian’s bed, too caught up in each other. True to Julian’s expectations, Bashir pushes Julian onto his front, pulling at him until his chest is against the bedding but his ass is up in the air. Julian tries to wiggle invitingly as Bashir gets on the bed behind him, but a harsh slap on his thigh stops him.

“You don’t have the ass to tease me like that,” Bashir jests, trailing his fingers over Julian’s ass. “Or, I should say, _we_ don’t have the ass for that.”

“Quit _being_ an ass,” Julian mumbles into his bedding.

“I should put something in your mouth to shut you up,” Bashir teases, gripping Julian’s ass tightly, spreading him to the cool air. He shivers and tenses as Bashir makes a deep, throaty noise before realizing he’s been spat on.

“Did you just _spit_ on--”

“You’ll like this next part,” is all Julian gets before he feels Bashir’s tongue against him. He moans loudly, unashamed in the pleasure.

Bashir eats him like he’s being paid to do it, gripping Julian by the hips but never touching his cock. He groans like he’s the one with a tongue in his ass and the filthiness of the situation makes Julian moan again. Bashir pulls back, gathering himself and catching his breath, before licking him again. His tongue is sharp, fucking into him with a practiced precision that makes Julian's eyes flutter shut. 

“You’re disgusting,” Bashir breathes into Julian’s skin as he sinks a finger into him. “Absolutely filthy.”

“Oh please,” Julian plays, trying to keep his voice even as Bashir fucks him with his finger. “No more than you are.”

“The cushy Terran doctor,” Bashir says, leaning to kiss the sensitive spot at the base of Julian’s spine, “getting fucked by his double. They should make holo-videos of this.”

It flashes in Julian’s mind; people paying to see him spread like this, being fucked by a harsher version of himself. Bashir has slowed down; the images must be playing in his mind as well. Instead he growls and pushes a second finger in, fucking Julian roughly with them. Hesitantly, Julian wraps a hand around his own cock, sighing in pleasure as he lightly strokes himself. He half expects Bashir to tell him to stop.

“Oh, that’s hot,” is all he hears in response.

Bashir leans over to pull open Julian’s bedside end table, rifling through an old PADD and a half-eaten box of mint truffles, before he finds the lube. With efficiency, he gets his cock slicked up, giving Julian no warning before he pushes in. They let out matching groans, down to the pitch, at the sensation. Their mirrored pleasure is like a feedback loop; who better to fuck you than yourself?

Bashir gives a few small thrusts, probably careful not the hurt Julian, before gripping him roughly by the hips and fucking him brutally. It takes some wiggling and adjusting, but soon Julian’s prostate is getting hit with every thrust and he moans loudly, hands gripping the sheets for leverage.

Bashir lets out a groan, grip tightening and hips slowing. Julian wants to pout, petulant that it could be over so soon, but Bashir is panting, hips at a steady, slow pace.

“...gonna make me fuckin’ come,” is all Julian hears; Bashir’s voice is muffled as he leans over Julian’s sweaty back, mumbling into his skin. "'m gonna be here for a few days. Wonder how many times you can make me come before I go? Maybe I should come on that pretty face of yours; lick it off and fuck you again. 'm gonna let you fuck me next-- you'd like that, huh?"

The thrusts get faster, harder as Bashir spins his fantasies, and Julian is crying out at his words. His hips work back against Bashir's, their bodies slapping against each other. He knows how to push back in a way that has Bashir gasping, and soon the pleasure builds. He doesn’t want to touch himself; wants this to last, but the stimulation is too much on his prostate. He tries to stop it, but he can’t, and soon he’s howling as he comes, untouched, into his sheets.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” is all he gets in warning before Bashir comes deep inside him.

They stay together until it becomes uncomfortable, twin hisses as Bashir pulls out and flops down on Julian’s bed like its his own. They lie there for a few moments, silent and catching their breaths. Julian doesn’t know what to say; he isn’t even sure if he wants Bashir to fuck and run. He wants to go again, wants to will his body to get hard again so he can crawl into Bashir’s lap and ride him like some kind of cheap whore. He wants to see the pleasured mirrored in his own face, wants to get Bashir’s cock in his mouth and see what countless others have seen from that position.

Instead, in the comfortable silence of his bedroom, he hears a simple request:

“Can I have some of those truffles that are in the drawer over there?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember: your local anonymous pornographer does take suggestions.


End file.
